


Why Are You Here

by Piggles



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: AU, F/M, Messy, Therapist's office, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 04:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18381194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piggles/pseuds/Piggles
Summary: I don't think the state should be allowed to force you to sit down with some crazy lady for an hour and tell her all your problems. Especially when that crazy lady sees right through you like a window with no glass.I guess that would still be a window.





	Why Are You Here

**Author's Note:**

> why drink and drive when you can drink and write at 4 in the morning because time is man made

“You hit someone, Michael.” 

Not exactly. 

“And that’s why you’re here.” 

Certainly debatable. Debateable? Hm. 

“And if you don’t start cooperating soon, you’re going to be here for a very long time.” 

That one almost sounded like a threat. 

“It was.” 

Oh I said that out loud. 

“Are you threatening me, Miss Hopper?” 

“Michael, we’ve been over this; you can call me El.” 

“And I told you to call me Mike. My friends call me Mike. Sounds better, doesn’t it?” 

“Are we friends, Michael?” 

No, you’re my fucking therapist, but if you would just call me by my name then we would be friends, wouldn’t we, Miss Hopper? It is “Miss” isn’t it? I should really ask her. Not because I’m interested or anything, she’s probably twice my age. She talks like she’s twice my age. Just because you went to, what, Harvard? What is that, a Yale certificate? Fuck you. 

“You went to Yale?” 

Miss Hopper turned her head with the air of Royalty, all dainty and slow so I could watch her do it. That’s the only reason people do things so slow, you know? They want you to watch. Don’t ask me why, I’m just laying down the facts. But someone like Miss Hopper, she just wants you to look and stare as she humbly reminisces over her certificates. 

“I did go to Yale. Where did you go to school, Michael?” 

“Who says I went to school?” 

“Your file.” She tapped the clipboard on her lap.

“Does it say where I went to school?” 

She smiled. One of those, I-Know-What-You’re-About-To-Say, Don’t-Fucking-Say-It smiles. 

“Yes, Michael, it does say where you went to school. It also says you dropped out after only one semester and then never returned. Let’s talk about that.” 

“School’s not for me. What can I say?” 

“Well you don’t have to say anything, Michael, your GPA can speak for itself.” 

“Well I was just—”

“4.0 and perfect attendance. You were bred for academia, Michael, you’re not about to piss in my tea and call it sweetener.” 

God, I love Dixie chicks. 

“Maybe the lifestyle just wasn’t for me. I didn’t make a lot of friends.” 

No! Shut up!

“Really? And why do you think that is?” 

What is that supposed to mean?

“I don’t think it had anything to do with anything. Did you make friends in college?” 

She wasn’t quick to the draw with this question. She actually hesitated. Flinched. 

We’ve struck gold. 

“Michael, the state is paying me a lot of money to talk with you for this hour, do you really want to waste it—” 

“I was just concerned with the lack of photos on your desk,” I jabbed a thumb behind me, “is all.” 

I could hear the hot air pluming from her nostrils. She wasn’t looking at me anymore; she was looking past me. She was staring directly at the empty desk behind me, exactly where I wanted h—

“Do you think it had anything to do with your friend Will’s death?” 

Pause. 

Rewind. 

Play that shit back. 

“Do you think it had anything to do with your friend Will’s death?”

So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“No,” I breathed quietly. I could feel my jaw tightening, my fingers tightening, everything locking in on itself. 

“No? Well I disagree. I think your best friend’s death had a profound impact on you and I think until you tell me about it, you’re only going to distance yourself further from your friends and family. Until you’re all by yourself, floating on some driftwood into the horizon. No one will find you out there, Michael. No one will want to help you. I want to help you. Believe it or not, I really want to help you. But I can’t do that if I’m talking to a brick wall.” 

“I can be a cement wall if you prefer.” 

It was the only thing I had left to say. What else was I supposed to say? Yeah, you’re right, you’re actually completely accurate in your breakdown and I should really be listening to you. That’s what I should have said. But, no. Fuck this. What does she know about Will? What does she know about anything sitting in this dumb tower with her stupid certificates and barren-wasteland of a desk? Nothing. 

She was waiting. Tapping her ballpoint pen against the clipboard. Tap tap tap. One day I’m going to break that clipboard. 

“Where’d you get a name like El?” 

Tap tap tap. 

“Is it short for something?” 

Tap tap tap. 

“My sister’s name is Holly, but we call her Holls. Well, I call her Holls. Is it something like that?” 

Tap t

“You have a sister?”

“Hm? Yeah, Holls. She’s eight, now, I think? It’s been a while since I was home, but, yeah, she’s like eight or something.” 

Hopper laughed. “You don’t remember how old your own sister is?” 

“Well, I mean, I gotta keep track of her age and Nancy’s at the same time, so, I mean, do you really expect me to keep up?” 

A tilt of the eyebrow was her only response. It was actually kinda cute. 

“You know what, it’s going to turn out that she actually is eight and you’re going to feel so foolish after this.” 

She shook her head and chuckled a little. I could feel the temperature already dropping. 

“I believe you, Michael. But I want to focus on the part where you mention not going home for a long time.” 

“Not a long time, just a while. Plus, I’m 23. How many 23-year-olds still live at home?” 

“But we’re not talking about living at home. You said it’s been a while since you were last home. Why is that?” 

“Because my parents are lame and so is that bum town?” 

It wasn’t the brevity that got her, I think. My file was sitting right in front of her. She knew damn well I’d spent almost my entire life in that town. Not that something like that even means anything. Hawkins was a small town, hard to escape from. It’s not surprising that most people spend a good chunk of their life there. If anything, I was one of the lucky ones. I got out. 

“I’m not sure I appreciate you calling Hawkins a bum town.” 

Oh? 

“It is, though. Why do you care?” 

“Because it’s my hometown.” 

Oh!

“Wait, really? Hawkins, Indiana?” 

“The very same,” she affirmed. “You must remember Chief Hopper. Hopper...” 

When the gears started turning, I almost launched out of my seat. 

“OH SHIT! You’re the Chief’s daughter! He—The one where, like, his daughter died, right? And, yeah, and you—he adopted you? And my Mom said he left for, like, the longest time until—until you!” 

She sat up straighter. “Yes, Michael, until me.” 

“But I never saw you in school? Hawkins is the smallest town in Indiana, there’s no way I could’ve missed someone like y—” 

No! 

“Someone like who, Michael?” She lifted her head higher. “Someone like me? What is it about me that would’ve stood out to you, Michael?” 

Definitely not your hazelnut eyes, or your glowing complexion, or your perfect posture, or your messy hair that somehow falls into place perfectly, like every little strand is a soldier that knows where it needs to be and goes there. I bet it’s like satin between your fingers. What the fuck is wrong with you, Wheeler. 

“Is it because I’m a surrogate?” 

“What?” 

She cocked her head, as if my confusion confused her. Confusing. 

“A surrogate. A substitute. A stand-in. That’s all I really was for Jim. He lost a part of his life and needed something to fill that hole. Likewise, that’s what I needed; a father-figure, someone to look up to. In a way we created a symbiotic relationship by relying on one another. That’s how you heal, Michael. Together.” 

So I need her to heal, basically. Yeah, you’d like that. Complete and utter reliance. Agency, who needs it?

“Maybe we all heal differently. Ever think of that?” 

“It says here that you attended MIT for mechanical engineering,” she said, glancing at her clipboard for good measure. My question had become the very dirt she walks on as she trudged forward. “It says there—” She nodded at her certificates, “that I went to Yale, Harvard, Princeton, and the University of Indiana to get my doctorate in the neurosciences.  
So, when I need to understand why my furnace is making a funny noise, I’ll call you. When you need to understand why the guilt of your best friend’s death is weighing on your conscience, you call me. Well, actually, the state calls me; that’s how you got here.” 

“I—”

“Obviously it’s going to take you a few sessions to realize that you are not the first basket case I’ve worked with, not even in the last 24 hours. We can go around and around in circles until the end of time, and then we can do it again, and at the end of the day, you’ve lost an hour, I’ve gained a cheque. We all have problems, Michael. That’s why we fix them together.” 

“But—”

“Your hour is up. I look forward to doing this again next week and I hope you feel the same way. Goodbye, Michael.” 

“Wait, I—” 

“Good _bye _, Michael.”__


End file.
